


Oblivious

by almina



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:51:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almina/pseuds/almina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>between Bug and Salud</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivious

"Can you walk?" Jesse said.

Mr. White mumbled,"Yeah," as he stood and swayed.

"Then get the fuck out of here and never come back."

It felt wonderful to say that. Something mean, something for the moment. Just like Mr. White told him to get off his property months ago. How's it feel, Mr. White? Hurts doesn't it? 

Minutes later, an unwelcome thought intruded. Maybe he had really injured Mr. White, physically damaged him. He should have Waited until morning to throw him out. 

But no. No. No.

Mr. White just had to tell him that he expected him to screw up and die in Mexico. As if he didn't care that Jesse would die. That was the worst. 

Jesse's eye lit on a smear of blood on the floor, right where Mr. White stood when he clipped him with the tracker bug. Fifty years old. Cancer. And Jesse beat him up. If anyone else had done that to Mr. White, Jesse would be planning revenge, take-your-time-and-make-it-hurt revenge. 

He dug out his cell phone. Mr. White did not pick up. Jesse tried again. He left a message. "I'm not going away, bitch." 

Jesse waited. And worried. He was mad at himself for worrying about Mr. White. The son of a bitch didn't deserve it. He wiped up the blood. He waited. 

If Mr. White was not going to return the call, there was nothing for it but to check that he was alright. Jesse fetched a flathead screwdriver,a few large paperclips and a ring of Allen wrenches that worked nicely on some locks. He put those into his pocket and drove to Mr. White’s condo.

Mr. White’s car was in the driveway. Jesse rang the bell, really stood on it. No answer. He chose to force the lock on the garage door rather than the one on the gate. He used the paperclips and was inside the garage in three minutes. The door from there into the condo was locked. The second to smallest Allen wrench worked on that just fine. From the stairs Jesse called Mr. White’s name. No answer. No noise. His heart beat faster. Mr. White was dying or dead. Please no. 

Jesse flipped on lights as he went to the bedroom. 

Mr. White was in his underwear on the rumpled bed. 

"What?" He squinted as the light came on. 

Jesse went closer. Mr. White's face was still bleeding. There was blood on the pillow. 

"How did you get in?"”

"Forced your locks."

“You broke in?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It didn’t occur to you to stay out if you weren’t invited in?”

“Yo, no,” Jesse said. He wanted to laugh when Mr. Multiple Felonies, Crystal King got prissy about social niceties.

“I was almost asleep.”

"You could have a concussion." 

Jesse knew about concussions. The one from school, his scalp wouldn't stop bleeding. He ended up in the ER. Never ratted out the guys who did it to him. The nurse tried to get him to talk by telling him of the possible results of head injury, like brain death and major reduction of IQ. He told her a major reduction of his IQ would be his teachers' problem, not his. After that, she gave up trying to reason with him. The second concussion was the result of a car accident. He got to go home from ER but every two hours, his mother had to check to see that he could wake up. Okay, he would stay here, and wake Mr. White every two hours. 

Mr. White closed his eyes. 

Jesse went to the kitchen phone and called a locksmith to arrange replacements. He was not a Neanderthal who destroyed a lock when he diddled it, but new ones would be more secure. 

He went back to the bedroom and pulled a chair close to the bed. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. As he did that he noticed a prescription drug container, cap off. He leaned closer. Oh shit, that was what Ginny took three weeks before her death. It knocked her out for three or four hours.

He picked up the container and held it in front of Mr. White's face. "Hey."

Mr. White's eyes got almost half way open.

“Did you just take this stuff?” Jesse said. 

"You of all people have a problem with me taking prescription drugs?" Mr. White's speech was slurred.

"You'll sleep for hours."

"That's the idea," Mr. White said. His voice trailed off.

Jesse put the container back on the bedside table. He held open Mr. White's right eye. Pinpoint pupil just like Ginny's when the opiates kicked in. Jesse put his hands on each side of Mr. White's head, and forced open both his eyes at the same time. At least the pupils were equal. Last time he was in the Emergency Room, the doctor said something worrying about unequally dilated pupils. 

Mr. White clumsily batted at Jesse's hand then caught it and held it to his chest.

Jesse sighed. “That is so gay.” 

Mr. White did not so much release Jesse’s hand as relax away from it. Jesse fetched a wash cloth and towel from the bathroom. He wiped away the blood on Mr. White's face. Patted the skin dry. Mr. White did not flinch. He should have. That had to hurt.

What was he going to do if he could not wake up Mr. White? Call 911. Then what? Jesse imagined telling the truth. That was horrible and funny enough to make him giggle.

'...I cooked meth with this guy. We got into a fight because I hadn't poisoned this other guy who has the biggest meth lab....'

No, he could not get near the truth. He would have to build a lie from the ground up. 

"The locksmith said he'll be here at nine but he’ll call before he shows up,"Jesse said. 

Mr. White gave no indication that he heard. He was further out of it than Jesse expected. Not good. 

Jesse sat on the bed. Mr. White was breathing slowly. Jesse laid two fingertips on the pulse in his neck. Slow. 

“I talked with Gus too," Jesse said, his voice louder than usual. "Told him that he should open more labs. Compartmentalize y’know. A cook would only know about the lab he works. No breaks in production if a lab got raided.”

Mr. White did not stir as Jesse spewed this nonsense, not the slightest little twitch.

“Yeah, Gus said it was a great idea. He said he should have thought of it.” 

No response. 

Jesse leaned over Mr. White, their faces at kissing distance. 

“I am going to fuck you until you can’t walk,” Jesse said. 

Mr. White's pulse plodded along. Jesse couldn't shock him awake. 

Mr. White was oblivious. It was as if he were already dead. 

Jesse sat up and picked up Mr. White’s hand in both of his.

“Why do you make it so hard to ..." Jesse's voice thickened. "I'm so sorry." Jesse could not stop. He told Mr. White this partnership was against his better judgment, against his own interests. And he'd do it again. He hated him. He loved him. 

Jesse closed his eyes and held Mr. White’s hand to his lips. 

Mr. White slept. 

After a while, Jesse took a quivery breath and pulled himself together. He drew the sheet over Mr. White's chest. 

By the time the two hours passed, Jesse had a plan, Which was fortunate because he couldn't wake Mr. White. He had pinched the trapezius muscle. He had shaken him. He dug his fingernail into the base of Mr. White's thumbnail. That last got a half hearted attempt to pull away.

Had to go to the plan. With any luck he wouldn't have to talk to cops or paramedics. He would just be a good citizen reporting open doors, and a fire in a driveway. The cops would find Mr. White.

Jesse moved his car down the street. He parked so that he see Mr. White's driveway in the sideview mirror. 

He took newspaper from the garage and was piling it in the driveway when a shadow fell across him. He looked to the side to see Mr. White, in his underwear, backlit in the garage door.

"What are you doing?" Mr. White asked. It was his usual tone, as if he were asking Fate Why was he burdened with someone so wrong-headed as Jesse.

Jesse stood up. "Starting a fire."

"What?" 

"I have my reasons." 

Mr. White obviously did not remember anything Jesse had said. 

Jesse looked Mr. White up and down. "Nice to see you awake..walking around outside..." 

Jesse smirked and his shoulders twitched. 

"in your underwear." 

Jesse could not stop being a smart ass. Not to save his soul. 

"Come inside, we'll talk," Mr. White said. "About the cook."  


"Don't bullshit me. I get it," Jesse said. "You can't help me. If I cook to your standard, Gus kills you. If I don't, Gus kills me." 

Mr. White stepped closer as if he were trying to catch an animal before it spooked.

"I'm going to die down there." Jesse's voice was flat, uninflected. He'd gone from smirking to despair in seconds. Walt couldn't keep up with these leaps.

"Don't leave," he said as he reached his hand within six inches of Jesse's arm. 

Jesse back up, turned, and ran to the street. 

Walt watched Jesse disappear into the darkness. Minutes later, he saw a car gun away. He continued looking at the spot where Jesse vanished into the night. He could not will him back. 

"You've got the methods down," he said as if Jesse were still near him. "You know what to change as conditions change." 

He knelt to pick up the newspapers. "You have to watch for sabotage," he said to the absent Jesse. "There will be people who envy you, people who want to see you fail." 

Walt had to make an effort to stand up. He was getting weaker, no doubt. He continued to counsel the boy. "Check for contamination before you start. Clean everything." 

He dumped the papers into the garbage can. "There will be one who belittles you. Whatever he tries to steer you into doing, refuse." Walt closed the garage door and stood still a moment to catch his breath. "Labs are hotbeds of deceit. Ego and deceit," he muttered. 

He was fading when he got back to bed. "Only the chemistry makes it worthwhile," Walt murmurred to himself as he lay down. "And Jesse."


End file.
